


As Cold As Ice

by Balder12



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub, Dominant/Top Castiel, Episode: s05e04 The End, M/M, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balder12/pseuds/Balder12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean needs an outlet.  Cas provides one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Cold As Ice

**Author's Note:**

> written for[ ljunattainable](http://ljunattainable.livejournal.com/)'s prompt in [salt_burn_porn](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/) 'It's as cold as ice'.  This also fills the Dean/Cas square on my [SPN Pairing Bingo ](http://spnpairingbingo.livejournal.com/)card.

The Impala was just a rusted out shell now, with grass growing up through the floorboards and a rats’ nest in the tail pipe, but Dean still went to her when things got bad. He’d finally gotten tired of the yelling and crying that came in the wake of the botched supply run, picked up his whiskey bottle, and walked out into the night without a word.  
  
Dean couldn’t see the face of the man lying on the Impala’s hood, but he knew who it was. Only one person would touch the car. Everyone else was too afraid of him.  
  
“Cas, get the fuck off there.”  
  
Cas rolled his head to face Dean, but made no move to get up. He took a swig from his bottle. When he licked his lips, his tongue was green. Great. He’d found another bottle of absinthe.  
  
“Beautiful night,” Cas said, with just the hint of a slur.  
  
“No, it’s not. It’s a fucking freezing night. You’re just too drunk to notice. You’re not even wearing a coat. Go inside.”  
  
“I don’t have a coat,” Cas said, sulky as a child. Cas had plenty of coats. He just didn’t have his coat. He’d lost it in a fight a couple of years ago, not long after the angels had left and he’d turned fully human. Dean knew it was absurd, but in his heart he believed that if only Cas had the trench coat back, he’d turn into the man he used to be.  
  
“Sit down, stay awhile,” Cas said. “Or stand there all night and judge me,” he added when Dean didn’t respond immediately. “Either way.”  
  
Dean lay down on the hood next to Cas. The metal was ice cold, even through his layers of clothes. The first few snowflakes of the season were drifting down to catch on Cas’s eyelashes and melt in his hair. He seemed unaffected. Cas always insisted that he didn’t feel cold like humans did, even after his fall. Dean couldn’t tell if it was residual mojo, or pride, or just some weird Cas thing, but Cas would walk around barefoot in a snow drift if Dean let him. Dean made a mental note to make sure Cas made it back to his cabin. If he fell asleep out here, he might not wake up.  
  
After a few minutes of silence Dean let his hand wander to Cas’s thigh, and then up to his crotch. Dean had the names of the dead stuck on a loop in his brain. He needed a distraction. Cas batted his hand away.  
  
“I’m not your girlfriend. Go find Risa.”  
  
Dean put his hand back where it was. “Help me out here. It’s the one thing you’re still good at.” Dean meant it to hurt, wanted it to cut through the absinthe and the apathy. Piss off Cas sufficiently and he’d do something about it. Fuck or fight, Dean wasn’t really sure, but right now he’d take either one.  
  
The next thing he knew he was face down on the hood of the car with Cas standing over him. Maybe Cas wasn’t quite as sloppy drunk as Dean had assumed. Cas kicked his legs apart and started working on his belt.  
  
“Is this what you wanted?” he asked. And _fuck yes_ , but Cas didn’t wait for an answer. He shoved Dean’s pants and underwear down around his ankles, and Dean winced when his bare thighs touched the metal. It was so cold it felt hot. He tried to lift himself up on his arms, but Cas planted one hand firmly between his shoulder blades and slammed him back down against the hood. Cas’s hips shoved him further into the car, until his cock was flush with the metal. The cold stung like a bitch and Dean heard himself give an involuntary whimper of pain. The chill in his cock ran right through him. He was shivering hard and scrabbling against the hood to escape.  
  
“Cas—“  
  
“Stop fighting. Or I’ll walk away.” He would, too. Cas still had more self-restraint than Dean when it came to sex.  
  
Dean forced himself to relax against the metal, even though his cock was burning and every instinct screamed for him to pull back. He bit down on his lip as best he could with his teeth chattering. He heard Cas spit on his hand twice, and felt the pressure of a cock pressing into him. Cas pushed slowly at first, gave him a chance to stretch so that nothing tore, but without any prep it still fucking hurt. His pants were a hobble around his ankles, preventing him from spreading his legs as wide as he might have, so that he stayed tight, making it harder to adjust. When Cas was fully in he drew back slowly a couple of times and thrust forward, like he was testing.  
  
Dean groaned, helpless, past dignity. “Get on with it. For Christ’s sake.”  
  
Cas pulled almost all the way out and slammed into him, over and over, the ruin of the car creaking under them. The metal had begun to warm under Dean’s body, but Cas lifted Dean and moved him half a foot lower on the hood, so that his cock met with the searing cold all over again. Dean tried to pull them back to the spot where they’d been.  
  
“Fighting,” Cas said, unnervingly calm for a man balls deep in someone. Dean gave up and took it. Every thrust nailed his prostate like an electrical shock to the base of his spine and dragged his cock across the icy metal in a stab of agony. He didn’t know where pleasure stopped and pain began, he just knew he was as hard as he’d ever been in his life.  
  
Dean heard the shift in Cas’s breathing that meant he was close, and felt his rhythm falter. “Cas, please,” Dean said. “Come on. Touch me.” When Cas made no move, Dean tried to get one of his hands under his body. Cas shoved him back down and thrust into him shallowly twice. Then he stilled, and Dean felt the warm flood of Cas’s come filling him as he shuddered out his climax.  
  
He pulled out almost before he was done and tucked himself back into his jeans. He was sprawled on the hood of the car again like nothing had happened while Dean was still standing there with his pants around his ankles and come dripping down his thigh.  
  
“It’s generally considered polite to make sure your partner’s satisfied,” Dean said, and started jerking himself off. He winced. The friction of his dry hand on his abused cock felt like it was rubbing him raw. Cas watched him with sardonic amusement.  
  
“If my dick has freezer burn you’re going to pay for it tomorrow,” Dean told him.  
  
“If it hurts to touch it, don’t touch it,” Cas said. Dean ignored him and went back to trying to jerk off, wincing all the while.  
  
“I said, don’t touch it.” This time it was authoritative. Dean dropped his hand.  
  
“Put two fingers in your mouth.”  
  
“I’m not putting on a show for you,” Dean said. “If you’re not going to give me a hand here I can go jerk off in my cabin.”  
  
“You can,” Cas said. “We both know you’ll come harder if I’m watching. Your call.”  
  
Dean tried to stare him down. Cas just smirked. Dean put two fingers in his mouth.  
  
“Now fuck yourself with them.”  
  
Dean slid them in. He was sore from the pounding he’d just gotten, but he was also open and slick with come, and it didn’t take much work to angle them into his prostate. He started rocking back and forth on them, and the angle thrust his hips out in an obscene display.  
  
“Eyes up,” Cas said.  
  
Dean could perform any sex act imaginable without blinking, but touching himself in front of someone always made him burn with embarrassment. There was no way to make it about the other person, no emotional sleight of hand. His face was hot even in the freezing air, but he looked up.  
  
“Good.” There was a flicker of fondness in Cas’s tone. “Stroke your balls.”  
  
Dean did, and they tightened under his fingers. His untouched cock was shiny with precome.  
  
“Cas, I can’t—“ Dean didn’t usually come without some kind of direct stimulation on his cock.  
  
“You can. You will.”  
  
Dean groaned in frustration and thrust back on to his fingers over and over again, milking his prostate, and then forward, desperately seeking friction against nothing. He swirled his thumb around his balls until he felt them draw up so high they were all but flat against his body. They clenched and he came in long pulses, spattering his shirt. His knees went elastic and he almost fell over when he forgot he was still tangled in his pants.  
  
His brain fuzzed out for a minute before he recovered enough to fasten his jeans and try to wipe the come half-heartedly off his shirt. Cas watched him silently from the hood of the car.  
  
“My dick still hurts,” Dean muttered.  
  
Cas took a drink. “But the rest of you doesn’t.”  
  
Dean had walked halfway to the line of buildings when he remembered about the absinthe and the missing coat. He doubled back.  
  
Cas was asleep. Dean grabbed him by the arm and tried to pull him down. “Come on, time to go home.”  
  
“Go to hell,” Cas said without opening his eyes. “I’m fine.”  
  
“You’re not fine. You’re drunk, and you’re bossy, and you don’t have the good sense to go inside when it starts snowing on you.” Dean snatched away the absinthe. Cas grumbled, but eventually he slid off the car. The two of them propped each other up as they stumbled toward their cabins.


End file.
